


one sentiment enlightens to another

by newamsterdam



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Courting Rituals, Denial of Feelings, Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Politics, Post A+ Support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 12:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21074840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newamsterdam/pseuds/newamsterdam
Summary: Of all of Ferdinand von Aegir’s more vexing qualities, the worst is this— the man has absolutely no idea of the effect he has on other people.The Albinean ambassador gifts Ferdinand a ludicrous amount of coffee. And that is only where Hubert's problems concerning the Prime Minister begin.





	one sentiment enlightens to another

**Author's Note:**

> set in a nebulous post-canon timeline where no one faction was utterly destroyed and perhaps they found peace, somehow.

Of all of Ferdinand von Aegir’s more vexing qualities, the worst is this— the man has absolutely no idea of the effect he has on other people.

The Albinean ambassador is proving to be a case study on that point, regrettably. 

Hubert had been informed at eight am that there was a rather large and suspicious shipment of unscheduled goods arriving from Albinea by noon, so he had been down by the front gates of the palace by the time the loaded wagons arrived. Lady Edelgard, ever conscious of the goings-on in her own capital, arrived soon after. 

“And this is, what, exactly?” She tilts her head towards Hubert, whose mood has grown progressively worse over the past few hours.

“Coffee, Your Majesty,” he replies, throat raspy. He hasn’t had his own cup this morning, so curious he’d been to see what Albinea was sending with such haste. “What looks to be about a dozen barrels of coffee.”

Edelgard’s brows shoot upwards in alarm. “A dozen barrels? How much gold is that worth? And where on earth did it come from?”

“Dagda, originally, I’d imagine,” Hubert says dryly. Because really, shouldn’t this be a joke? 

“Hubert,” Edelgard says with stressed patience, “You know what I meant.”

“The messenger went to fetch the intended recipient,” Hubert murmurs.

Sure enough, within a few moments there’s a flurry of activity in the courtyard as Prime Minister Aegir appears. His long hair streaming behind him, still dressed in his riding clothes, his noble face the picture of puzzlement. 

(Hubert notices things about everyone. Ferdinand is no exception, though Hubert doesn’t precisely have a reason for focusing on how pink his cheeks have gotten after his brisk morning ride.)

“What’s all this, then?” Ferdinand asks, voice booming across the courtyard. 

The Albinean messenger scurries forward, offering Ferdinand a sharp bow from the waist. “For His Grace the Prime Minister, with the compliments of the Albinean embassy.” 

“Um.” Ferdinand blinks. “What?”

“The ambassador wanted to thank you,” the messenger continues, “for your kindness to him and all of the Albinean people. Your solicitousness was most appreciated, and—” 

Edelgard lifts a hand, and the messenger cuts off abruptly. “That’s enough. I believe we get the point.”

Hubert still feels sparks like lightning in his blood when he sees Lady Edelgard wield her authority so naturally, so casually. But his attention shifts back to Ferdinand after a moment’s vicarious triumph. 

The messenger presents Ferdinand with a heavy parchment envelope, bows once more to the three of them, and heads back to the now-empty wagons. 

“Ferdinand.” Edelgard’s voice is sharp, but light enough to be carried on the wind.

“Ah. Yes, Edelgard?” For all that he boasts of being able to challenge her, even Ferdinand balks at her carefully casual tone.

“I asked you to speak with the Albinean ambassador, to smooth relations between our countries,” Edelgard recounts. 

“That’s right.” 

Edelgard lifts a hand to her chin, considering. “There was an impressive trade agreement involved, but what on earth did you say to that man that he’s sending you a fortune’s worth of coffee?”

Ferdinand looks over at the barrels, seems to take stock of them for the first time. He wrinkles his nose, which pinches his skin white and makes the light smattering of summer freckles stand out all the more. “Coffee,” he says mournfully.

“Yes,” Edelgard says. “Coffee from Dagda, worth more than its weight in gold. Which means the Albinean ambassador went out of his way to buy you a gift from another country to show his appreciation. What did you do, save his firstborn from drowning?”

“Of course not!” Ferdinand sputters. “We spent a day slaving over agreements and getting nowhere, so I invited him to the opera with me, and then we went to some of the lovely tea shops in the southern district of Enbarr. It was no grand ball, but it was enough to get him to soften up a bit. Things went much better, after that.”

“Evidently.” Hubert doesn’t intend to speak aloud, but when the word drops like a stone from his lips, both Edelgard and Ferdinand turn to face him.

Ferdinand’s cheeks color. “I never even _mentioned_ coffee! You know I can’t stand the stuff. Honestly, if he wanted to exchange gifts, I would’ve loved some premium berry blend…”

Edelgard pinches the bridge of her nose. “Just get these barrels out of my courtyard. And send him a gift back, but nothing that will bankrupt the treasury. I trust you can devise a diplomatic solution that won’t make the empire look cheap, or wasteful.”

She strides away, crimson cape billowing behind her. 

Ferdinand sighs, hands on his hips as he turns to Hubert. “Any suggestions?”

Hubert sneers. “Aren’t you the one who courted his favor?”

Ferdinand’s cheeks color, and he stamps one foot against the ground. “Excuse me, Minister, but are you mad at me for doing my job?”

Hubert shrugs. “You’re more than capable. I’ve other matters to attend to.”

He sweeps past Ferdinand, but not before hearing the other man mutter, “What am I going to do with this much coffee? I know I never mentioned liking it...”

That is a conundrum, Hubert thinks darkly. And one he’d like to get to the bottom of sooner rather than later.

—

“There is a spy in your household,” Hubert says, apropos of nothing.

Ferdinand is standing in the center of the paddock, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair tied back with a ribbon at the nape of his neck. In one hand he holds a long rope leading back to the halter of a young black foal; the other is raised in greeting, though he stands frozen now as he considers Hubert’s words.

“Excuse me?”

“A spy,” Hubert says, repeating his words like he would to child just learning about the world of intrigue and shadows that dog their every step. “In your household. It’s the only explanation.”

The foal has quit its exercise and jogs towards Ferdinand, nuzzling against the pockets of his vest and breeches.

“Yes, yes, sweetheart,” Ferdinands says soothingly. His voice grows considerably less velvety when he looks up at Hubert. “The only explanation for what, exactly?”

As Hubert crosses the expanse of the paddock to him, Ferdinand offers the foal a chunk of carrot from his flattened palm. 

“Try to keep up,” Hubert snaps. “The coffee. There’s no logical explanation for it— you are, in fact, famous for your love of _tea_.”

“I’d like to think I’m famous for more than that.” Ferdinand smiles wryly.

Hubert pointedly ignores the flash of white teeth and waves a hand dismissively. “You are not a particularly mysterious personality, on the continent or elsewhere. ‘How to Win the Favor of the Adrestian Prime Minister’ would be a laughably short book. Some tea, tomes of old legends or histories, an antique or unusual weapon… there’s any number of things an ambassador might gift you.”

“I’m aware,” Ferdinand says. He pats the foal’s flank, where sweat shines on its dark coat. The foal whinnies, clearly delighted at the attention. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you, the weaponry I’m acquiring might make better for a museum than a private collection—” 

“So— the coffee,” Hubert continues, as though Ferdinand hadn’t spoken. “Why the coffee?”

“Hubert,” Ferdinand says slowly, smile frozen on his face. “My friend, have you slept at all, recently?”

“That hardly matters,” Hubert says. “Though for your information, I’ve spent the last two nights pouring over _your_ financial records, because the most expensive thing that can be credited to your accounts is a regular monthly shipment of coffee. The only way one might know that is if they had the same records, or someone within the household to make note of such things. So if the Albinean is sending you your weight in coffee, it is because he is _spying_ on you.”

“Ah,” Ferdinand says, rubbing the back of his neck. “So you assume there is a spy in my household, other than the one or two you have placed there.”

Hubert pauses. He really doesn’t give Ferdinand enough credit for noticing these things, though he’ll never admit that aloud. “Yes,” he says finally. “Other than those.”

Ferdinand shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “And what, pray tell, do you think the Albinean ambassador has to gain from spying on me?”

“He’s clearly buttering you up for something,” Hubert murmurs darkly. “I hadn’t pegged Albinea as a threat, but—”

Ferdinand holds up a hand, a less intimidating imitation of Lady Edelgard’s gesture. Hubert stops speaking, nonetheless.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Ferdinand suggests.

“Excuse me?”

“The ambassador. I don’t believe he has ill intentions, and you, of course, have spies in not only the Albinean Prime Minister’s household but also mine. Not to mention every court in Fodlan and elsewhere. The ambassador will be back in Enbarr next week, so any suspicions you have you can see to then.”

“You hardly seem concerned,” Hubert points out.

Ferdinand shrugs. “I have no reason to think his intentions aren’t noble. And besides, I’ve spent so long training Blackberry here for him; it’d be a shame to not deliver the gift because you’ve gone and done away with the ambassador in the night.”

“Blackberry,” Hubert repeats.

“The horse,” Ferdinand says, slowly. “As a return gift. A good compromise, wouldn’t you say? Valuable, wonderful, but not excessive.”

A horse personally bred and trained by Ferdinand von Aegir is nothing to scoff at. The gift is in fact impossible to value, because Ferdinand does not sell his horses. It is an infuriatingly good response to the ridiculous amount of coffee.

Ferdinand grins brightly. “Ah, so you have nothing to say! That must mean I’ve done well. Do you see that, Blackberry?” He strokes over the foal’s nose. 

“Next Albinea’s spy will be reporting that Prime Minister Aegir talks to horses,” Hubert drawls.

“And what will he do with such dark knowledge?” Ferdinand wonders.

“Likely use it in his plot to assassinate you,” Hubert returns, immediately.

Ferdinand places a solemn hand over his heart. “How heartbroken the nation will be, to lose me so young. A rather complex con on Albinea’s part, though. What was the point of the coffee?”

“Perhaps they’re going to crush you with the barrels and make it look like an accident.”

“Ah.” Ferdinand nods. “You know I never go near the stuff. If they find my body like that, do remember to investigate it as a murder, would you?”

“I shall do my best.”

—

Ferdinand does not take threats to his person seriously. Hubert has known this for some time; he’d had to watch for five years as Ferdinand charged into battle, thinking only of glory and protecting others, and never of himself. It had been irritating, so much so that Hubert took to positioning his own battalions between Ferdinand’s and Edelgard’s, so that the reach of his own magic could protect either of them if needed. If Lady Edelgard noticed, her only judgment was a small, knowing smile. Ferdinand, for his part, was too busy crashing into danger to notice anything at all. 

It makes sense, then, that Ferdinand does not take the discovery of the Albinean spy seriously. If Hubert had uncovered more of a plot— an Albinean conspiracy to use the Prime Minister to topple the empire, or a plan to assassinate Her Majesty— then he might be more incensed. But Ferdinand laughs at the idea of himself being in danger. 

It’s up to Hubert, then. That’s why he stays close, when the Albinean ambassador is welcomed back to Enbarr with a showy presentation of his new, Adrestian-bred horse. That is the only reason, he assures himself, that he watches the pair like a hawk.

The ambassador is a tall, broad-shouldered man with olive skin and dark hair. He delights in Blackberry— the _horse_, Hubert corrects himself— and thanks Ferdinand by bowing over the Prime Minister’s extended hand and kissing his gloved fingers.

“Hubert,” a cool voice calls out to him, at a register so low no one else will hear what the Emperor has to say to her Minister of the Imperial Household, “You look like you just sucked on a lemon.”

With deliberate effort, Hubert unclenches his fists and schools his expression back to placidity. “Forgive me, Your Majesty.”

Edelgard clicks her tongue, coming to stand beside him as they both watch Ferdinand saddle up Blackberry and help hoist the ambassador onto his back. “I think I underestimated him, again,” she says. “I was really expecting him to seek funding for a thousand rosebushes or an army’s worth of custom rapiers.”

“He wouldn’t think to burden the empire that way,” Hubert says, almost without thinking. It is true though, isn’t it? Ferdinand never once complained about losing the riches of his family’s house and title, though the word “Duke” still follows him like a ghost. Once he was let into Lady Edelgard’s plans, he committed himself to them wholeheartedly. Hubert doesn’t think Ferdinand has ever done anything without putting the whole of his heart into it. 

Edelgard hums thoughtfully. “I think you’re right about that. So if the Albineans think that they can steal him away from us, I believe they’re sorely mistaken.”

Hubert envisions the Albinean ambassador throwing Ferdinand over one shoulder and running away with him in the night. It’s ridiculous, of course, but the image of Ferdinand’s curtain of copper hair flowing behind him as he struggles sends an uncomfortable lurch through Hubert’s body.

“Surely Albinea has nothing to gain from _abduction_, Your Majesty.” 

Edelgard turns her head to one side, smiling thinly. “That isn’t exactly what I meant, Hubert.”

They’ve been so in sync for so long that Hubert is baffled when he can’t read her meaning in her smile or her eyes. She’s looking at him like they’ve both looked at others— like they alone know the truth of things, and everyone else is woefully ignorant. 

Hubert has never once fancied himself ignorant of anything.

“And so what you actually meant was…?” It’s disgraceful that he has to ask.

Edelgard shakes her head, then reaches up to brush a hand lightly across Hubert’s shoulder. Physical affection between them is rare, though Edelgard knows all that she means to him. He certainly knows what he means to her, and values that more than any amount of gold or coffee. 

“Maybe just keep an eye on our Ferdinand tonight, to ensure he isn’t tempted.”

He can’t imagine anyone being tempted by abduction, but as Hubert glances back at Ferdinand and the ambassador, he sees laughter dancing in Ferdinand’s amber eyes. Something coils low in his gut, and he scoffs at himself. _Our_ Ferdinand, indeed.

—

Usually, Hubert revels in the stiff formality of state dinners, if only because they make everyone else so uncomfortable. People never reveal so much as they do when they purposefully veil themselves in their most political masks. And it is so delightful, really, to be the one wearing a smile and casual ease when everyone else is afraid you might knife them in the back or poison their wine.

Which, honestly. Now that the war is over, Hubert would never think of disgracing Lady Edelgard by assassinating someone at her dinner table. He’d wait for dessert and tea in one of the parlors, for that.

He wishes he could enjoy this dinner as much as he usually does, but somehow _he_ is the one balanced on an uncomfortable knife’s edge. 

He’s seated across from Ferdinand, which isn’t unusual. Lady Edelgard is at the head of the table, with the Albinean ambassador to her left and a delegate from Morfis to her right. Next to those ambassadors, on either side, are Ferdinand and Hubert. And so it goes down the line, Adrestian ministers interspersed with foriegn dignitaries. 

Hubert isn’t much concerned with Morfis, at the moment. Instead, he’s watching the Albinean ambassador reach over to offer Ferdinand a sweet berry from his own salad, off of _his own fork_.

And Ferdinand, the consummate fool, is reaching down to bite into the berry, then throwing back his head and delighting in how sweet, how delicious, it is!

It’s an insult. Hubert has spent the better part of the past two decades planning and working to build the Adrestian Empire up to a beacon of justice and decency, and now here comes Ferdinand von Aegir to disgrace them by acting so freely, so childishly, with the Albinean ambassador, of all people! 

“Hubert,” Edelgard calls cooly, “Are you not enjoying the salad?”

Hubert looks down at his own plate, where he has smashed each and every berry into a bloody pulp, juices smeared across the fine china. He coughs, sets down his fork, and offers Her Majesty a gracious smile.

“Perhaps not as much as some people, Lady Edelgard.” He folds his hands in his lap, staring down at them instead of at the smear of red berry juice left at the corner of Ferdinand’s mouth. 

Edelgard continues to eye him, then subtly tilts her head in Ferdinand’s direction. Hubert’s gaze follows, so that he looks straight at Ferdinand in time to see the Albinean ambassador offer him a lace handkerchief to wipe his face with. 

Maybe he won’t make it to dessert before plotting a few well-placed assassinations, after all.

—

Ferdinand von Aegir was never supposed to factor into Hubert and Edelgard’s plans. In his initial drafts of a superior empire, Hubert had decided the entire House of Aegir would fall in the first strike against the nobility. He hadn’t revised that opinion even after meeting Ferdinand— a lanky boy of just seven years old, come to the capital to follow his father around like a burst of too-warm sunshine. Hubert, who was still trailing his own father as a silent shadow, found Ferdinand von Aegir to be obnoxious, loud, and _soft_.

He was the same age as Edelgard, but instead of the fierce admiration and protectiveness Hubert felt for her, he looked on Ferdinand with annoyance and disdain. He hadn’t suffered, as Lady Edelgard had suffered. He hadn’t her vision, and was so delusional he clung to storybook notions of nobility that had been gone for centuries, if they ever existed in truth at all.

But Ferdinand von Aegir _persisted_. He challenged Lady Edelgard at every turn, until she forcibly pushed him back down. He worked for every skill he acquired— whether it was his skill in the saddle, or with the lance, or in charming every person he met. He pushed forward in battle, even though his hands shook for days after his first kill. He put himself between others and danger. And, when his father was deposed and Lady Edelgard’s plans revealed, he adapted. He didn’t cling to his own status, but rather fought to reshape the world with them.

In short, he’s still infuriating, and Hubert often wonders what his life would be like if he’d killed Ferdinand von Aegir when he had the chance, before he got to know him. Before he’d memorized Ferdinand’s smile, or the smell of his favorite tea. Before he’d started to smile, himself, when they met in the hallways of the palace as Hubert headed to bed at sunrise and Ferdinand headed out for his early morning ride. Before he started seeking out Ferdinand’s advice, his help on various state projects, the calming rhythm of his voice in a sea of irritations and obstacles.

Because, if he had killed Ferdinand back then, now he wouldn’t have to contend with the image of another man paying him so much attention, now, and Ferdinand very much enjoying it.

—

Sometime during dessert, the Albinean ambassador tugs at Ferdinand’s hand and leads him out onto the balcony. Hubert knows the view from that balcony well, and at this time of night all of Enbarr is lit up below the palace. It’s a beautiful sight, and Hubert doubts that Albinea can boast anything to match it.

Still heeding Edelgard’s instructions to keep a close watch on their Prime Minister, Hubert positions himself just outside the entrance to the balcony, where he can hear everything and see most of what is about to transpire. 

(Pushing someone off of a balcony is an inelegant way to assassinate them, but not unheard of, after all.)

The night air is still, a cool contrast to the warmth of the parlor where the rest of the party is gathered. Caught between the bright lights and the star-speckled night sky, Hubert waits.

“I’m sure you must have guessed at why I’ve asked you out here,” the ambassador begins, tugging at his tie. He isn’t a soldier, but he’s a well-built man, and there’s nothing he should be particularly nervous about.

“I knew you fell in love with Enbarr,” Ferdinand says with a warm chuckle. “Of course you would have to see the best view of the city that the palace has to offer.”

“Ah,” the ambassador says, “That isn’t quite it, Prime Minister.”

“Oh?” Ferdinand cocks his head to one side, hair falling over one shoulder. “What is it, then?”

“You have certainly shown me the beauty of Enbarr,” the ambassador says. “But I am beginning to think that any city would be as beautiful, with you as a guide.”

Hubert, who has spent time sieging every capital city on the continent, knows that isn’t true. 

“Oh, of course not,” Ferdinand laughs. “I don’t know any other cities half so well.”

“You could come to Albinea,” the ambassador bursts out. “I would love to show it to you.”

Ferdinand shakes his head mournfully. “That would be wonderful, but my duty is here. A journey across the sea like that could take months, and I couldn’t abandon the empire for so long.”

“It wouldn’t have to be just a visit,” the ambassador says.

“What?” Ferdinand asks.

“Prime Minister— _Ferdinand_— I have enjoyed all the time we’ve spent together. Not just for the sake of our countries, but because of you. I think I could be very happy, spending a lifetime with you. I think I could make you happy, as well.”

“Ambassador,” Ferdinand starts, taking a step backwards, “Are you saying that—”

“Yes,” the ambassador cuts in. “I would marry you, if you would have me. My family’s name is perhaps not as great as House Aegir, but our status has never been diminished in Albinea. You would be treated there as the nobility you are. _I_ would treat you as the nobility you are.”

Ferdinand’s cheeks color. “You are very kind—”

“Please, consider it,” the ambassador says. He reaches out and grabs for one of Ferdinand’s hands, kissing across his knuckles. “I hope by now I have shown you the depth of my feelings.”

“Ah,” Ferdinand says awkwardly. “The coffee.”

This is— this is what Lady Edelgard had foreseen, Hubert realizes. That Ferdinand might be tempted away by the promise of restored nobility, and a spouse to love him for all of his days. It would certainly be an easier life that helming the government of the newly-reformed empire. A life of luxury and care and comfort, and… love, perhaps.

“That, and more,” the ambassador says. “I realize you cannot make a decision on such short notice, but please—”

Ferdinand clears his throat. “Ambassador.”

Finally, the ambassador ceases. “Yes?”

“You are very kind, and no doubt of great service to your country,” Ferdinand says. “I have the utmost respect for you, and have enjoyed our time together. However, you must know, as soon as possible, that I could never marry you and leave the empire for Albinea.”

The hopeful smile on the ambassador’s face freezes. “You… can’t?” 

Ferdinand sighs softly. “I cannot, and I will not. My loyalty is not free, that I can give it away to a new land. The empire has it fully. And… my heart is not free, that I could give it to you. It also belongs to another.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” the ambassador says, brow wrinkling.

Ferdinand laughs. “Some days I don’t, either,” he admits. “But I have been in love for some time, and if I have misled you in any way, I apologize. I would very much like to continue as your friend, and colleague. But if that would not be amenable to you, I will have someone else handle Adrestia’s contacts with Albinea from now on.”

“You won’t consider me,” the ambassador says dumbly. “But I— I _asked_. There has never been word of you taking a lover, or showing such affections to anyone.”

“Your spies, you mean,” Ferdinand says lightly. “You asked them if I was attached? They did not betray you. They could not tell you what they did not know. And I have not taken a lover, as it were. My heart simply belongs elsewhere.”

The ambassador colors at the mention of spies. “I only meant to— woo you properly—”

Ferdinand smiles wryly. “There is no harm done. In fact, I’m quite flattered. If I cared for coffee, I’m sure I’d be quite smitten.”

“I can’t imagine your heart belongs to someone who would not offer you their own in return,” the ambassador murmurs.

Ferdinand’s smile does not budge from his face. “Perhaps,” he says. “I have not your courage, for I have not yet asked for my beloved’s affections so boldly. Have hope, then, that when you find the one truly meant for you, they will not have to wait for you to confess.”

The ambassador bows his head. “You are a great man, Minister Aegir.” 

“I try,” Ferdinand says. “Do remove the spies from my household, though, otherwise I fear something worse may happen to them.”

The ambassador colors again, nodding. “I don’t see how they could’ve been wrong about the coffee…”

“They weren’t,” Ferdinand says. “It’s just that I don’t keep it for myself.”

—

When the ambassador has left the balcony and is well out of earshot, Ferdinand turns to lean over the railing and gaze out at the city. Without turning his head, he calls out, “Are you going to join me, or is it your intention merely to lurk in the shadows all night?”

Hubert huffs out a laugh before stepping onto the balcony. The lights of the city below illuminate Ferdinand’s hair as he leans against his elbows and looks out at the world. There is a thoughtful expression on his face, and Hubert can’t read the intent behind it.

“I suppose that’s one mystery solved,” Hubert says, stepping forward and crossing his arms over his chest. “Though it opens another, far more troubling. How would anyone think to propose marriage to you?”

“It _is_ a mystery,” Ferdinand agrees, still not looking at him. 

Hubert turns his gaze to look at Ferdinand’s profile— the brush of his lashes, the slope of his nose, the press of his lips. He looks pensive, and almost sad. It doesn’t suit him. 

“I will admit being on the same level as that ambassador is an insult to my professional pride,” Hubert says.

“Oh?”

He smiles thinly. “I, too, had no idea that someone had captured your heart. The last time I asked if there was someone you fancied, you only said you’d bought the coffee for me.”

And that moment had been pregnant with something, a feeling in the air that Hubert couldn’t name. Ignorance frustrated him, so he’d tucked the feeling away somewhere and refused to think of it. He assumed his friendship with Ferdinand was just that. 

Ferdinand turns to him, and smiles wider than he ever had for the ambassador. “Really.”

Hubert frowns. “You don’t recall?”

Ferdinand rolls his eyes. “Of course I do, Hubert. I remember very well. I just— well. Perhaps I’ve overestimated you.”

Hubert, who has spent the better part of the past few weeks believing he constantly underestimates Ferdinand, bristles. “Oh?” he parrots back.

“Hubert,” Ferdinand says with stressed patience. “I did buy the coffee for you. I _continue_ to buy the coffee for you, though I suppose now the both of us are set for life, in that regard. I apparently bought so much of the stuff that it is my top expense.”

The dark feeling that’s been curling in Hubert’s chest all night begins to burn before it evaporates entirely into steam, leaving him feeling lightheaded. 

“You mean to tell me,” he says, “that stocking coffee is your way of _wooing_ me?”

Ferdinand shrugs, though his cheeks are now bright red. “You buy me my favorite tea, don’t you?”

“And you thought that was _my_ way of wooing _you_?”

Ferdinand’s eyes flick downwards. “Well. I hoped so, anyway.”

“Foolish,” Hubert mutters.

Ferdinand continues to look at his feet. “Perhaps.”

Again, it isn’t the look on Ferdinand’s face that Hubert prefers. He likes to see challenge in Ferdinand’s amber eyes, a triumphant smile playing at his lips. He likes Ferdinand wind-swept and happy, and he likes him frustrated and scheming, and he likes quiet moments between them when they can sip coffee and tea and not have to worry about the many masks they wear in everyone else’s company. 

Ah, he thinks. _Aha_. 

With great deliberation, Hubert peels off his gloves and tucks him into a pocket. He reaches for Ferdinand’s hand, grabbing his wrist and pulling him away from the railing.

“Hu-Hubert?”

“_If_ I were to woo you,” Hubert says, and the very word is beginning to sound foolish but he’s too far in to back out now, “You would most certainly know it.”

He tugs at Ferdinand’s glove, pulling it off each finger and then setting it aside. With a courtly grace he’s never found much use for, he bows over Ferdinand’s bare hand and then presses his lips lightly to Ferdinand’s skin. 

“I— _oh_,” Ferdinand says.

Ferdinand’s hand is shaking, in his grip. So Hubert drops it, and straightens up. He isn’t so much taller than Ferdinand, but somehow it’s natural to loom over him, to press one hand against his neck, to stroke the other over his cheek.

“Hubert…” Ferdinand sighs.

“You should stop letting people touch you so freely, if your heart belongs to another,” Hubert says.

Ferdinand fists a hand into Hubert’s coat, tugging him forward. “Remind me of that another time, will you?”

Hubert has imagined wringing Ferdinand’s neck, of throttling him, of encouraging him to walk straight off of a cliff at his most vexed moments. He has never imagined how soft Ferdinand’s skin would feel under his fingertips, how his hair would brush against Hubert, how he would close his eyes and sigh just a moment before their lips met.

He has never imagined it, so of course he couldn’t have know that Ferdinand would taste of damn Albinean berries, that he would grab onto Hubert’s shoulders and refuse to let go, that Hubert would be able to lean him over the balcony as Ferdinand’s hair fell backwards like a curtain of burnished bronze.

Of course, Ferdinand has never known the effect he has on other people. And of course, Hubert has never quite put together the effect that Ferdinand has on _him_.

“If you ever dream of leaving the empire,” Hubert whispers against the skin of Ferdinand’s neck, “I will be forced to end you before you can be used against us.”

Ferdinand laughs, even as he’s hung half-backwards over the balcony. “I do believe you gave me a version of that threat just before the war began. How am I ever going to convince you of my loyalty?”

It isn’t loyalty Hubert is after, he realizes. He’s been sure for a long time that Ferdinand would never betray Edelgard nor the empire. 

“Convince me of something else,” he says, and then he reclaims Ferdinand’s mouth with tongue and teeth.

—

It is sometime later when Ferdinand and Hubert make their way back into the parlor, straightening jackets and sleeves. Ferdinand brushes Hubert’s bangs back over his eye, and Hubert untangles a lock of Ferdinand’s hair from the clasp of his tie. 

Edelgard, seated on a plush couch with a cup of bergamot in hand, eyes them thoughtfully. “Everyone has already left, you know. The Albinean ambassador was the first to make his excuses.”

Hubert offers a half-bow. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I did not intend to leave you alone with all of them to contend with.” 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Edelgard says dismissively. “Though I should warn the two of you that if you become distracted from duties of state, I will never consent to a marriage between you.”

Hubert chokes on air, and because his hands are still around Ferdinand’s waist, the two of them nearly tumble to the ground. 

As they straighten themselves up, Edelgard sets down her teacup and gets to her feet, dusting off her skirt. “Though I suppose nothing would be more distracting that Hubert trying to devise any possible reason for _observing_ you, Ferdinand, other than what it actually is.”

Ferdinand tilts his head towards Hubert, a smile playing on his reddened lips. “You _observe_ me?”

“You just confessed to another man that I held your heart,” Hubert snaps defensively.

“Yes, but at least I recognized that for what it is.”

Edelgard sighs. “I trust you can make your way back to your rooms, or at least one of them, on your own. I am going to bed.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, Edelgard.”

She shakes her head. “And I still want something done about that coffee.”

—

Allowing Ferdinand to court him is perhaps the greatest mistake of his life, Hubert thinks as he blinks awake to the mid-morning sun. The curtains are thrown open, and he is surrounded by freshly-cut gladiolus surrounding him in bed. Their smell intermingles with that of the fresh pot of coffee sitting at the low table a few feet away.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Ferdinand says. Fresh from his morning ride, his cheeks are pink. He’s unbuttoned his shirt in preparation for a bath, and his hair hangs in a long tail down his back, tied back with a length of lacy ribbon. 

He leans over the bed and plants a kiss on Hubert’s lips, and Hubert once again bemoans his great mistake.

He never should have told Ferdinand of the effect he can have on people. He never should have revealed to Ferdinand how great of an effect he has on Hubert, himself.

**Author's Note:**

> title from jane austen's _emma_: "He had been in love with Emma, and jealous of Frank Churchill, from about the same period, one sentiment having probably enlightened him as to the other."
> 
> i probably shouldn't have gone so deep into an austen spiral before writing this, but you know what? it's what hubert and ferdinand deserve.
> 
> i'd love to know what you thought, and please hit me up on twitter to talk about the black eagles because they are everything.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/newamsterdame) | [tumblr](https://newamsterdame.tumblr.com/)


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